


you keep your socks on in bed (keep the hearth warm)

by jordantodd



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, its cute, theyre just cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jordantodd/pseuds/jordantodd
Summary: Their bodies are pressed against each other’s now, and Spencer is starting to warm up, finally. Like a cat basking in the sun, soaking up the warmth like it’s the air he needs to breathe. The radiator is still humming, and his eyes have adjusted better to the darkness, able to make out more than just the outline of Luke's body.
Relationships: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	you keep your socks on in bed (keep the hearth warm)

**Author's Note:**

> i actually posted this for another fandom as well (on an orphan account bc shame) so if you see this somewhere else its not plagiarism i just want attention 
> 
> title is from texas resnikoff by mitski

October, Spencer decides, is the worst month.

The winter weather had hit quick and merciless this year. They were only a month into autumn, but it’d switched from slightly chilly to freezing in a matter of days. Every window in the flat had been fogged up when he’d woken up in the morning, stagnant air nipping at whatever exposed skin it could find. Goosebumps had become a staple in his wardrobe – that, and a variety of hoodies he’d stolen from Luke. Despite burrowing under his blankets like a bear hibernating all winter, nothing could protect him from the relentless cold.

It’s something about the cold that turns him recluse. More recluse, at least. He can’t help it – with the sun setting at 4 pm, it’s impossible to not want to retire for bed early and lie there in the darkness. All he wants is to lie in bed, where it’s warm and soft and safe, and shut out the world.

Though the dark had drawn in hours before, it was evening now. Outside his window glowed a dim streetlamp, bathing half of his room in a wash of gold. They live in the city, he reminds himself, it’s impossible to see the stars here. He’s curled up now in bed, beneath a soft, thick duvet cover that smells of too much fabric conditioner. The radiator buzzes in the back of his head, a sound he can never fully tune out. God, he’s tired.

The door cracks open ever so slightly, and a thin sliver of warm light floods the room. He squints through it, harsh and bright, at the figure who slips in through the doorway.

“Jus’ me,” Luke's familiar voice croaks, closing the door behind him gently. He’s started to tug off his t-shirt, preparing for bed. Spencer watches through the haze of the faint light, a small smile pulling at his lips, as the silhouette moves. He can make out the tussled mess Luke's hair has become, way overdue for a haircut.

“Scoot over, will you?” The other man slips under the cover, knees bumping into Spencer's own as he finds a comfortable position. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, but slides further under the cover until their legs are interlocked and one hand is rested comfortably beneath the pillow. Their hands quickly find each other, Luke’s curiously twisting at the hem of Spencer's sweater.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Luke notes as he shifts position, facing Spencer properly now. His face catches a stripe of the gold light. It mellows out the harshness of his features, washes away the sleepless nights from beneath his eyes, colours his skin healthy. Spencer thinks he’s never seen someone prettier than Luke is now, olive-skinned and saintly.

“Mhm, ‘m cold,” Spencer murmurs in a lazy agreement. It’s one of Luke’s favourite sweaters, he knows this, some tacky Christmas sweater that he gets away with wearing year-round, somehow. It’s baggy enough on Luke, but hangs comically loose on Spencer, swallowing his lithe frame whole and sleeves enveloping his bony hands entirely. It’s so so soft, and it smells just like the other man – musky, warm and familiar. It smells like home, he decides.

“Should have got another blanket, worn some socks,” He feigns apathy as he chuckles, pulling at the sweater that shrouds Spencer's body with pinched fingers, as if trying to reclaim it. But when Spencer grumbles, he concedes. Luke scoots slightly closer, tugging Spencer into his arms. Their limbs tangle together even more, into a jumbled mess of pointy knees and bony legs, but it’s the only place he wants to be right now. Spencer is a flower that grows towards the sun, and Luke is bright and kind and smiling, always, ear to ear. It’s infectious, really, he can’t help but smile too.

“God, you are freezing,” Luke mumbles into Spencer's _hair._ One hand subconsciously begins to sift through it carefully, the other pressed flush against his ice-cold skin.

They’re opposites in this way. Luke is always warm, too warm, shrugging off jackets in the middle of December because he’s sweating buckets. He grasps Spencer's hands between his own, always, holding them tight until the other man’s knuckles and cheeks are flushed pink. With a little grin, Luke will remind him to bring gloves next time, and Spencer will forget, and they’ll do it again, both knowing that it wasn’t really an accident. It’s the simplest gesture, really, but the most tender, he never feels quite so loved as he does then.

Their bodies are pressed against each other’s now, and Spencer is starting to warm up, finally. Like a cat basking in the sun, soaking up the warmth like it’s the air he needs to breathe. The radiator is still humming, and his eyes have adjusted better to the darkness, able to make out more than just the outline of Luke’s body.

“And you’re warm, it balances out,” He skims an icy finger up Luke's arm, idly, watching as the man’s chest rose and fell with each breath. “I can’t believe you’re wearing socks,”

Luke is the type of guy who sleeps in his underwear only, most nights, because otherwise, he’ll just overheat. Despite it, he wears socks in bed. It’s ridiculous, it really is, Spencer thinks, how he’s always moaning about it being too hot beneath the covers but wears those stupid fuzzy socks to bed. He presses an icy foot against Luke’s warm leg, feeling him flinch beneath the touch.

“I’m just keeping you warm, babe,”

He’s beginning to doze off now, feeling his words grow more and more slurred as he speaks. It’s moments like this, here, now, in this dim light, that Luke unfolds before him. So much of their life is spent together at work, wound up and with a deadline. It’s nice to see him unwound, crude and rougher around the edges. It’s so goddamn cheesy, and he loves it.

“You’re whipped,” A large hand rests on the side of his face, thumb stroking in soft, rhythmic patterns. The pads of Luke's fingers are calloused slightly, awkwardly long and bony, and his hand fits so perfectly with the curve of his jaw. _We’re built for each other_ , Spencer thinks, how their bodies meld together. Luke hums lowly.

“Only for you, though,”

 _Yeah_ , Spencer thinks, soaking up the warmth with a smile. His eyes are starting to close, unable to resist the call of sleep. _This is where I’m meant to be._


End file.
